


like you mean it

by holtzmanns



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race UK RPF
Genre: F/F, Lesbian AU, Mutual Pining, Sickfic, Sort Of, they're soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29763366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns
Summary: Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it.It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora still has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?In which anaesthesia makes A'whora brave enough for the both of them.
Relationships: A'Whora/Tayce (Drag Race)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 85





	like you mean it

**Author's Note:**

> Well hello! Haven't ventured past my branjie bubble for a long while, though these two have absolutely captured my heart. Figured a nice little one shot would be a good place to start. Thank you Writ for being the best and betaing, and Pop for helping my Canadian ass with lingo. Title is from Mean It by Cash Cash & Wrabel. Enjoy and definitely let me know what you think!

Tayce is not sure when A’whora put her number down as her emergency contact, but if she’s still kicking, she’s gonna kill her for it. 

It’s just appendicitis. That’s it. A’whora’s fine, the nurse on the phone had even said that they got to it before it burst, and now the only issue that A’whora has left is her penchant for cheesy jokes. She’s okay. So why are Tayce’s palms feeling this clammy as she pushes past the crowds milling about in the hospital reception?

The day surgery floor is a little run down, the _No Phones, Please_ sign on the wall straight out of the 1990s with pictures of old brick phones with antennas sticking out of the top. The beds are separated with curtains rather than rooms, and Tayce is about to ask a nurse with glasses balanced on the tip of her nose about A’whora, before a piping voice at the far end of the ward answers the question for her. 

“James. Jimmy. Jimbo. Is orange juice really the only option? You haven’t got blackcurrant or grape or anything like that? Are you sure this is room service?” 

“This isn’t room service, ma’am.”

Tayce has to hold back a laugh at the sight of a truly stricken A’whora and her thoroughly bemused nurse with a capri sun in hand. A’whora looks as if she’s trying to come up with a response, her mouth open and her eyes slightly squinted, and Tayce can almost see the cogs turning in her brain. Tayce pushes the curtain around her back, the sound causing A’whora’s head to turn towards her almost sluggishly, her face lighting up in a loopy grin. 

“Tayce! What are you doing here? You got a room at this hotel, too?”

Tayce snorts, coming around the side of the bed. Admittedly, the sight of the wires and IVs makes her heart beat a bit faster, a reminder that a few hours ago A’whora was knocked out in surgery with her side cut open. 

But she’s okay now. That’s what matters. 

“S’not a hotel, you idiot. You went and blew your guts up,” Tayce grins, one that turns into a snicker when A’whora’s brow furrows and her mouth drops open. 

“What’d I do that for?”

Tayce pulls up a chair beside the bed. “You were saying last week that you were bored. Decided to go rogue and make something exciting happen, did you?” 

“Doesn’t feel too exciting. Jiminy over here only has a capri sun, and we both know it tastes like piss,” A’whora pouts, leaning her head back against her pillow, and Tayce can’t help but shoot an apologetic look towards the nurse.

“Be nice to the man, Rory, he’s taking care of you. I’ll grab a coke from the concourse for you later.”

A’whora’s nose wrinkles, her lips pursing together. “Can’t you get me a beer instead?” 

“Quite picky for someone stuck in a hospital bed in a backless gown with your arse out,” Tayce says, raising an eyebrow, but A’whora looks like she hasn’t even heard her, from the way her eyes are scanning Tayce’s features.

“Tayce?”

“Yes?”

“You’re pretty.”

A’whora lets out a giggle, and the dopey grin on her face lets Tayce know that it’s all the pain meds, really, making her say something like that. She pushes down the way her heart flips over in her chest a little bit, because A’whora really doesn’t need to know how she has her wrapped around her finger without being aware of it. 

Maybe flat-sharing with her mate that she’d hooked up with as a fresher hasn’t been the smartest of Tayce’s decisions. She’s good at compartmentalising, she knows it, having stayed friends with a few of her exes because she’s good at letting go, at leaving no hard feelings behind. 

But there’s something about A’whora that’s kept Tayce from being able to do the same thing with her. Maybe it’s because Tayce knows what she looks like in comfy pyjamas and a top knot on her head, maybe it’s because A’whora loves making pancakes on the weekend and always makes a stack for Tayce, too. A’whora always knows when she’s annoyed by something, and isn’t afraid of prodding her until she opens up. Yeah, it’s a bit much to have someone insistently poking at her shoulder until she _talks about her feelings instead of sulking about it quietly,_ but it’s A’whora. It means A’whora cares.

She always has.

But Tayce has perfected the art of hiding her feelings behind a mask of cool indifference and her sense of humour. She’s always the one sitting on A’whora’s bed and giving her opinions on her outfit ideas before a date, always the one ready with ice cream and a bottle of wine when A’whora comes home grumbling about how she’s never going to find the right one. Tayce is there, always there, even when A’whora laments about how she wants someone who cares for her, someone who loves her for who she is, someone who really sees her, and she has to stop herself from giving in and telling A’whora to see who’s right in front of her. 

Tayce may like her best friend, but her best friend doesn’t need to know that. 

But right now, A’whora’s higher than a kite and gazing at her with a sense of awe in her eyes and it’s a bit disconcerting, really, because Tayce isn’t used to having that look directed at her. It’s unfiltered, as if A’whora is pushing past the curtains that Tayce likes to keep closed to see what she’s truly feeling.

A’whora’s dreamy laugh is enough to let Tayce know that she really doesn’t have much to worry about, in terms of A’whora noticing anything. “Really pretty. A princess. Princess Tayce.” 

Good lord. 

“Does that make you a knight, then?” Tayce asks, even though she’s usually the one to make sure they get home safely on nights out when they’re drunk off their tits, the one who scowls at men who won’t leave A’whora alone. 

“I’ll protect ya.” A’whora points at her and her movements are sluggish, her eyes slipping closed as she yawns, and Tayce has to ignore the way it makes her heart clench. 

Her flatmate’s too damn cute for her own good. 

Tayce’s chair creaks as she leans back, watching the way A’whora’s breaths even out and her movements begin to still. She pulls out her phone, and the flurry of texts coming through the group chat is not a surprise in the least.

 _Lawrence of Glasgow-ia:_ _bet they’re shagging in the on-call rooms by now_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: grey’s anatomy style_

_Ellie no Diamonds: not when a’whora’s sides are split in two ‘cause of surgery_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: tayce already split her in two_

Tayce snorts, shaking her head. Lawrence never fails to take any opportunity to rip the piss out of them.

_Tayce-lor Swift: I can read, u ghoul_

_Bim Bons Bouls: didn’t u once say u got held back in reception_

_Bim Bons Bouls: all at 4 years old_

_Tayce-lor Swift: someone had to bully the little demons in my class_

_Tayce-lor Swift: they deserved it so I did a good deed really_

_Ellie no Diamonds: that’s nice and all but is a’whora still alive or_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: we interrupted their sweet reunion ells, have a little respect_

_Tayce-lor Swift: oh piss off_

_Tayce-lor Swift: she’s high off her tits and fast asleep_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: was the strap that good_

_Tayce-lor Swift: lawrence next time it’s on sight_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: u wish_

_Ellie no Diamonds: oh thank goodness she’s ok_

_Bims Bons Bouls: facetime us later when she wakes up I want to see drugged up a’whora_

_Lawrence of Glasgow-ia: as if we don’t witness that every saturday night_

_Bims Bons Bouls: u have a point_

Tayce shuts her phone when the conversation lulls, shoving it back in her pocket in favour of glancing at A’whora again. She looks smaller when she’s asleep like this, surrounded by wires and a monitor hanging above them in the corner. The sight makes Tayce swallow hard, because, theoretically, she knows A’whora is okay. She’ll be fine with some ice lollies and some bed rest, but if she hadn’t had surgery in time? Things could have ended very differently. 

Tayce doesn’t want to think about that.

It’s a lot easier to protect A’whora when Tayce is in control of the situations around them. Times like where she watches A’whora’s drink from the corner of her eye, to make sure no one around them has the audacity to try anything stupid, or when she gets A’whora into pyjamas and wipes off her makeup after nights out before they’re out cold in one of their beds. A’whora’s more than capable of holding her own, Tayce knows that. She’s not small or weak and she’s ready to shout at whoever even tries to look at her the wrong way, but it just means that Tayce has to keep an eye out for her so that it stays like that.

Times like this, though, Tayce feels helpless. She’s not Cherry, out there saving lives with the NHS and she can’t do anything for A’whora at a time like this, either, not when A’whora needs time and healing and sleep. She wishes that bundling up A’whora in a blanket would be enough to fix her, the way that it is when A’whora’s nursing yet another ruined Tinder date over some ice cream with her at three in the morning.

“Tayce?” 

A’whora’s stirring beside her, a little furrow between her brows that Tayce wants to smooth out for her. 

“Yes, baby?” 

“Why don’t you like me?” A’whora’s bottom lip is pushing out just a smidge, but enough that Tayce wants to run a hand through her hair, calm her down from what her anesthesia addled brain is making her experience. 

“What are you on about? ‘Course I like you, you’re my best mate, you goon,” Tayce murmurs, reaching for A’whora’s hand and rubbing her thumb along the crease of her palm, as if it’ll calm the sudden hitch in A’whora’s breath. 

“No, no, I...you know what I mean,” A’whora’s gaze drops, a sigh on her lips. “Forget it.”

Maybe there’s a chance that A’whora won’t remember this anyway, when she’s properly woken up and out of the hospital. Maybe whatever Tayce lets herself say right now won’t matter at all, because the consequences of her actions will be wiped clean when A’whora’s anaesthesia has worn off. 

Maybe the risk of falling off the cliff that they’re dangling from is a little bit smaller than it normally is. 

So Tayce steels herself, pushes the soles of her feet into the ground. “Not ‘ _forget_ _it’_. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“You should have kissed me that next morning. I was waiting for it.” For someone on painkillers, A’whora looks surprisingly lucid, her gaze enough to lock Tayce in, keep her from looking away. 

“When?” It’s a useless question, because Tayce already knows the answer. 

When they’d hooked up during freshers week, Tayce had left A’whora’s flat as soon as she woke up, because she’d just been another one night stand. Back when Tayce had no idea that A’whora would become one of her friends just a few weeks later, her closest friend a few months after that.

They’ve never really talked about it, keeping it an elephant in the room - or rather, in the flat that they share now - because they’ve had other hookups and girlfriends and they’re just mates, nothing more. Mates who have stuck around for much longer than any other partners. 

It’s all hearsay at this point, unspoken words between them that Tayce has been thinking and she knows A’whora has been, too. It’s been easier not to, and to just let things play out because even though the sense of longing has coated Tayce’s heart for years at this point, talking is too much. Talking takes the coating and hardens it, making it impossible to free herself from if she needs to. 

“Do y’know why none of my dates ever work out?” A’whora’s let her earlier question go, and Tayce wants to thank her for it. 

“Why’s that?”

“They’re not you.”

Shit.

“Could’ve saved yourself some time and asked me out instead, then,” Tayce keeps her voice light, as if her stomach isn’t turning, as if her feet aren’t tapping on the ground because of the electric current running through her veins. 

A’whora’s face doesn’t break into a smile, despite Tayce’s lighthearted tone. “Would you have said yes, though? Or brushed it off and taken it as a joke?”

“Who’s to say, really?” 

“You’re an idiot,” A’whora rolls her eyes, and really, Tayce can’t fault her for it. 

She’s not wrong. Not when A’whora’s capable of tying Tayce’s words into a knot of terribly worded explanations and attempts at jokes to hide the fact that her heart is pounding in her chest, that they’re walking on a tightrope so thin they could fall off any moment. 

But Tayce still has reassurance of one fact, the most important of them all, and she clings to it as she says it out loud. 

“And yet, you love me.” 

“Unfortunately.”

“For what it’s worth, I do love you, too.” Tayce mumbles under her breath, because she’s dug herself into enough of a hole at this point.

May as well bury herself in it.

“Christ, take me out to dinner first, at least,” A’whora scoffs, but she’s smiling, the kind that reaches her eyes and is filled with mischief. 

“Oh, so now you’re finding it funny?” Tayce grins, shaking her head, and sure, she’s still a little sweaty and she’s aged approximately ten years from the conversation, but part of her feels a bit lighter too.

A bit more hopeful.

Because maybe, just maybe, the two of them can have a chance at something. That is, if A’whora wakes up and remembers everything. 

* * *

“Tayce! Get in here!”

Tayce pops her head into A’whora’s room, frowns when she sees her standing in front of her wardrobe. “Aren’t you supposed to be on bedrest for another day? What’re you doing up?”

A’whora scoffs, waving a hand. “I’m fine. You need to help me with picking out a dress, c’mere.”

“A dress for what? You’re not leaving the house ‘til that incision is healed, young lady,” Tayce tuts, and she has to ignore the fact that she sounds just like her own mum. 

A’whora shoots her a look. “Are you daft? Have you forgotten already? You’re taking me out this weekend.” 

“This weekend?” Tayce can’t help the fact that her voice comes out in a bit of a squeak, because she doesn’t remember deciding on a date and time but…

It means A’whora hasn’t forgotten. 

Tayce hasn’t pushed her since coming home from the hospital, focusing on giving her the chance to heal and feel a little better rather than approaching the issue. Yeah, maybe she’s guilty of falling back into the same pattern that’s gotten the two of them here in the first place, but she’s wanted to give A’whora the chance to broach the subject before pushing it onto her. 

A’whora shrugs. “Work something out. I’m expecting my socks to be knocked right off with you.” 

“Kinky,” Tayce gets out, but she can feel the way her face is breaking out into a smile, threads of excitement and promise and the chance to maybe not fuck it up again. 

“I’ll help you pick something out once I’ve decided where we’re going. For now, it’s back to bed with you,” Tayce grins, pointing at A’whora’s rumpled sheets. 

They can work this out. They can go through the shams of _going on a date_ like normal people and as if they’re not already half in love with each other. Maybe Tayce can kiss her again. 

Christ. It’s as if she’s a fifteen year old again with absolutely no game to speak of. Frankly embarrassing. 

But A’whora doesn’t seem to mind, from the way her eyes are gleaming. “I’ll climb in if you join me.”

Tayce snorts but walks around to the other side of the bed nonetheless, the side that’s become hers from all the Netflix and late night chats and so called platonic snuggles. “No funny business, though. You have to heal first.”

A’whora climbs under the covers, and her slight wince as she lays down makes Tayce’s chest tighten. Despite her big talk, she’s still not fully better just yet.

“Serious business only, got it. Now come and snuggle me, isn’t that supposed to speed up recovery?” 

“I don’t think medical advice from _Grey’s Anatomy_ is exactly sound.” 

“And yet, you’re under the covers, too,” Awhora mumbles, letting out a yawn.

She snuggles into Tayce’s side and Tayce lets her, running her fingers up and down A’whora’s back in the way she knows never fails to lull her to sleep when she’s tired. 

They’ll work it out. Whatever this is. They will, because the other option is letting the words hang in the air unspoken and Tayce isn’t sure she can go back to that.

So she’ll kiss A’whora good morning, or evening, rather, once she wakes up from her nap. She’ll take her out this weekend, something not too strenuous because she still needs to rest. They can have another go at their freshers one night stand with years and years of friendship and context and caring for each other. 

After this long, Tayce is ready for it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts! You can find me at @plastiquetiaras on tumblr.


End file.
